


and now, the weather

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, M/M, Welcome to Night Vale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trees sprout fingers, but an even more shocking event steals the spotlight. A Welcome to Night Vale AU ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, guys. I'm 16k into my Big Bang, but I wanted to post something. I'm not even sure there's a readership for this, haha. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: This bizarre universe belongs to Welcome to Night Vale's creators. This is a fictional story based on the public images of these people. I do not intend to make any aspersions that their real-life counterparts behave or think like this. Please do not send this to anyone involved in this fanwork or anyone that he or she may know.

“Good afternoon, listeners. Our top story today is something that most of you have undoubtedly seen on your travels earlier this morning. But for those of you who may be agoraphobic, let’s just say: the trees have sprouted fingers.”

Louis pauses to take a sip of tea from his favorite mug, and looks down at his notes. Average newsy stuff. Quite dull, really.

“I have to be honest, everyone. I think this is great. I think having fingered trees will do a lot for the self-esteem of our community. When I was walking to the radio station this morning, the fingers seemed to have joined forces to make hands, and I got several high-fives from the trees that I regularly pass in the park. It was like they were saying, ‘Yes, Louis, your hair looks wonderful today’ and ‘Louis, your chiseled jaw makes grown men weep,’ and so on. So I ask you this: what’s wrong with feeling better about ourselves? As far as we know, the trees are not out to get us. At least, not yet,” Louis finishes.

“On second thought, call in if you see any of the trees look suspicious.”

Louis looks over through the clear glass doors that separate him and the rest of the radio station. He sees his producer, Niall, pacing back and forth, his cell phone cradled in between his neck and his shoulder as he jots down notes on a faded yellow stenopad. 

Niall comes over and presses a piece of paper to the glass doors, presumably something for Louis to read. Louis squints but can’t make much out of it, which isn’t surprising, since Niall’s handwriting has never been legible, even on his best days.

Louis shrugs and gives Niall a helpless look, before playing the public service announcement, and turning off his mic. He waves Niall into the studio.

Niall strolls in, talking even as he’s still letting the glass door close behind him.

“Fun stuff with the trees, today,” he says, dropping the stenopad onto Louis’ desk in front of him. “I’m jealous you got the high fives from them.”

“What’d you get?” Louis asks, blinking up at him. 

“Well, I was in me car, so they basically had whatever thumbs that had sprouted point out at me.”

“Like a thumbs up?” Louis asks hopefully, mimicking the sign.

Niall flicks his thumb up and twists his wrist, so his thumb peeks out to the side.

“No,” he says, slowly. “More like they were a bunch of creepy hitchhikers or something.”

Louis shakes his head and laughs. “They trying to get out of here already?”

“Right,” Niall agrees, chuckling, “Which we all know is useless.”

He shoos Niall out of the studio right before he moves back into sharing his wisdom with the willing masses. He’s always been a talker, was getting in trouble from the word ‘go’ in school for turning and whispering to his mates. His teachers always addressed him as ‘the back of Louis’ head’ for a reason. He didn’t think it’d get him much of anywhere, really, being a natural gossip, but it turns out that he makes a pretty good radio personality. Local radio, sure, but it’s something. 

“Okay, listeners,” he greets the vast emptiness of his studio, “we’ve been fielding quite a few calls from you on the matter of the trees. So, let’s go through some, shall we? First, we have Danielle Peazer, you know, the woman who runs the dance studio in the center of town? Apparently, according to Ms. Peazer, some of the fingers that are grouped close together are working as a unit to do jazz hands. Well,” Louis sighs, “That just sounds bizarre. First, what music is there? Can bodiless fingers even keep a rhythm?” 

Louis bites back his comment on how he doesn’t trust a word Danielle says, because her tip on the trees has nothing to do with the messy breakup between her and Liam. He’s a professional journalist, dammit, no matter what his mother says.

“And then we’ve got another report coming in from Paul Higgins, that guy you’ve seen walking through town. That reminds me-- does anyone know what Paul does for work? He just seems to _be_ places all the time.” Louis looks back down at his notes. “Oh, right. Paul Higgins is saying that earlier today he was tickled by the trees at several points during one of his many daily walks.”

He feels his phone buzz against his thigh, and he shifts his weight to the side as he tries to dig his phone out of his pocket.

“I have to admit, everyone, I’m still not seeing the problem. Couldn’t our dreary community do with a little laughter? I know not everyone’s a fan of tickling, but let’s be honest, wouldn’t it help us decipher the weak from the strong? I’m not making any gross claims here, I’m just saying.”

Louis glances at his phone. It’s a poor habit, he knows, to be texting while on the air, but he can’t help it sometimes. Not when some of his friends insist on texting him news and updates instead of calling into the studio like everyone else.

It’s mostly Liam who does that, but still.

“Oh dear God,” Louis mutters, reading over the text. He doesn’t realize at first that he actually said the words out loud, and he lets the silence hang over the air while he digests the message.

_Just ran into Haz outside the dog park. He got a haircut._

“Listeners,” he breathes, “We’re going to need to take a pause on the tree discussion for now. I’ve just received word of a most grievous crime. Now, I know our feelings on dear Harry Styles’ hair are fairly divided. You’ll of course remember that at our last town meeting, the motion to regulate our most charming resident’s shampooing schedule came incredulously close to passing. But I think we can all agree that the length and volume of Harry’s hair is, well, not to be messed with.”

Louis pauses, looking over at a picture he has taped on the side of his computer, a group shot of all five of them, hovering around a pizza. He doesn’t even remember who took the shot, but they’re all beaming, and Harry’s head tilts down, just enough so this his hair falls down over his eyes, curling around itself.

“I know I’ve made no secret in the past that I’m rather fond of Harry,” he starts. 

He can hear Niall’s laughter at that through the glass doors, though this room is supposed to be soundproof. Niall is the one, after all, who regularly keeps tally of how many times he refers to Harry’s hair as ‘perfect’ and any time he compliments his curls on air. That is, of course, entirely separate from the tally that Zayn keeps of how many times he ruffles Harry’s hair during any given week. This week’s count is up to ten. It is Wednesday.

“So, I mean, I’m clearly biased here,” he continues, “but I think I have no choice but to order a hit on Louise Teasdale. I can think of no other person responsible for the execution of Harry’s beloved hair.”

He takes a breath.

“Listeners, I’m actually speechless. Please call in if you’ve seen this new haircut. Liam, that means call the station, please, not my cell phone. Of course, listeners, please also call if you have any idea how we can right this wrong. While Louise has been our town’s favorite hairdresser forever, there needs to be some kind of punishment here. I’d love to hear your suggestions.”

He looks over through the glass doors and he sees a familiar figure standing there chatting to Zayn. Harry looks as effortlessly charming and handsome as always, but his gray-green beanie is pulled a little bit lower on his head. There are no stray tendrils that Louis is used to seeing, and he looks generally concerned. Zayn looks like he’s trying to talk Harry down from some kind of cliff, and Louis suddenly feels guilty for dragging this out onto the radio before even seeing Harry. 

Louis catches Harry’s eye through the door and beckons him through. He sees Harry excuse himself politely from his chat with Zayn. Zayn sends him off with a comforting clap on the shoulder.

“Okay, listeners, while you ponder the meaning of life and our place in the universe, here’s the weather.” Louis turns his mic off just as Harry comes in and hoists himself onto the edge of Louis’ desk.

They sit in quiet for a moment.

“You need to call off your hit on Lou,” Harry starts.

“You’re not supposed to listen to the show, Harry,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “But okay.” 

Louis would do basically anything Harry asked of him.

“I refuse to be the only one not listening to the show,” Harry says, a hint of a smile curling at the edges of his lips. It’s a conversation they’ve had over and over again. Louis knows how painfully obvious his pining sounds over the radio-- Zayn, Liam, and Niall won’t let him forget it. If Harry doesn’t listen, then Louis doesn’t have to worry so much whether Harry ignoring Louis’ affections is just him letting Louis down easy. 

“So let’s see it then,” Louis says. Harry’s face tightens as he pulls his beanie off, revealing his new, cropped ‘do. It’s not as bad as Louis had been picturing it, really. He had envisioned some hackneyed buzz cut, but there’s still some depth to it. The waves are mostly gone, which Louis takes a moment to mourn, but it’s fine.

“Okay,” Louis says. He smiles at Harry. “Did she, like, come at you with shears while you were watching Lux?”

Harry chuckles, and tugs the beanie back on.

“No, I asked her for it.”

Louis looks curiously at Harry. “Because of the shampooing vote?”

Harry smiles. “No.” He sighs. “I worry that some people only see my hair.” He looks at Louis, his eye contact serious.

“And why to do you think that?” Louis asks, doodling on his notes for the rest of the show. He looks back up to see Harry still staring at him.

“Because some people, especially when they are on the radio, go on and on about my hair,” Harry says carefully.

Louis sighs.

“Some people also go on and on about your other good qualities. Some people also describe you as charming and smart and generous.”

Harry nods thoughtfully, finally breaking his eye contact to look down at his feet grazing the carpet. 

Harry unknots his hands in his lap and leans over to place his hand on Louis’ knee. Louis feels his blood run hot, and he suddenly worries that Harry can feel the heat rising off him. He hopes this isn’t the feeling one gets before one spontaneously combusts. He’s had to report on the aftermath of a few of those, and it’s not pretty.

“You’re the only one whose opinion matters to me, really,” Harry says, looking at Louis.

“It’s fine, Harry. I might have overreacted. You know how I do that sometimes.”

Harry keeps his hand there, and Louis, feeling brave, puts his hand on top of it. Harry’s smile grows, baring his teeth, and looking down at where they’re essentially holding hands. His head ducks down a little, and while there’s no wispy curls falling down over his eyes, he’s still just as gorgeous as he is in the picture on his desk. 

A knock at the door shakes him out of his reverie, and they both turn to see Niall gesturing at the microphone. Louis startles and switches it back on.

“Hello, listeners. Sorry about the moments of silence after the weather. That must have been awfully unnerving for most of you, and reminiscent of all of those awful childhood memories you’ve repressed. Um, let’s see here,” he says, shuffling his notes around with his left hand, refusing to let go of Harry’s grip on his knee. “Okay, newest updates: Our charming, young bachelor Harry Styles is making the sheared look work for him, so no need to go out and find Lou Teasdale, and everyone can breathe easy again.”

He peers over at Harry, whose face blossoms with relief at not being responsible for the death of his friend.

“Oh, and to the matter on the trees,” Louis says, looking down at his paper. “To the person who is utilizing the fingers on the trees for lewd acts: you are a twisted, twisted person. There are children around,” he rants. Harry stifles a giggle next to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of adding another fic as part of a series, I thought I'd put this as a second half. Hopefully this provides a little more closure for you. :)
> 
> The same disclaimer as the first part still applies.

“Good morning, listeners,” Louis greets, his smile growing without his consent. “Isn’t it just a beautiful day out?”

“No,” Zayn mutters from the corner. It’s low enough that the microphone doesn’t pick up on it, but Louis shoots him a smirk anyway. Just to acknowledge that Zayn spoke at all.

“So, in case you haven’t noticed, some people have woken up this fine day with more than one head. What do I mean exactly? Well, it seems that many folks in our community suddenly sprouted a second head, jutting out from their necks. So far, the Sheriff’s Secret Police has found nothing in their investigations. Although to be frank, I’m not sure they’re doing much investigating. So far, we have no understanding why those with dual-noggins have been affected, nor how much these secondary heads are capable of. If you or someone you’re somewhat apathetic to have been affected, please call in to the studio. I’d like to chat.”

He cuts over to a PSA just as he sees a text message on the desk from Harry. _Harry_. 

“Oh, disgusting,” Zayn scoffs, shuffling over to the door, and going back into the general office space. He lets the glass door slowly drift shut behind him. 

“Zayn’s just jealous,” Louis mutters to himself. He double and triple checks the microphone at that, just to make sure that didn’t air. It wouldn’t be the most embarrassing thing to happen to him on air, of course.

He opens the message from Harry.

_feeling so reckless_

Louis’ eyebrows quirk at that.

_oh really ?_

He watches the message send. It’s not unusual to get random texts from Harry, even before they held hands and had their date last night. That had definitely been a date, no matter what Niall tried to say. Niall was just trying to give him shit over his pining. Even though neither he nor Harry had explicitly said the word ‘date’, it was implied. It felt date-like. Plus, there was the kissing. Louis feels like that's always a good sign, though not fool-proof.

_listening to the show >;) _

Louis drops his head into hands at that one, locking and pushing away his phone. He hates when Harry listens to the show. He feels so self-conscious under Harry’s gaze sometimes, even in person, but he still feels all knotted up and nervous at the mere thought that Harry’s listening. 

He only lasts about five seconds before he grabs his phone and unlocks it again, staring at Harry’s words.

 _you’re not supposed to…_ , he writes. Harry can do whatever he wants, of course, including but not limited to listening to Louis’ excessively popular radio programme. It’s just that now Louis feels like projectile vomiting onto his mix station.

He turns his microphone back on, and starts rambling about his concerns of the revolt of the two-headed citizens.

“With twice the brains,” he reasons, “it’s twice the ability to takeover our entire community. I’m not entirely comfortable with this.”

 _what are you gonna do about it? ;)_ comes the response.

Louis sees the message pop up on his screen. He makes this embarrassing mewl-type noise, and he can practically hear it echo across radios through the town. He hates himself, sometimes.

Niall knocks on the glass door, holding up single finger. He’s trying to tell Louis to go to Line 1. Louis nods his understanding and turns back to his microphone.

“And I see we have a caller who wishes to comment on the state of the two-headed citizens.” He presses line to transfer them on the air. “Hi, caller, you’re live on air. What’s your name?”

“Hi,” comes the slow drawl over the line, and Louis feels himself shit out his stomach.

He shoots a panicked look over to the office doors, where he can see Niall keeled over, laughing at his expense.

“Harold,” Louis says, listening to his own voice echo.

“Yes, hi, Harry Styles, here.”

Louis grabs a fistful of his own hair.

“Yes, Harry, so happy to hear from you,” he says. He hopes Harry can read between the lines on that one. “You have some thoughts on the double-headed members of our community?”

Suddenly, a thought pops into his head.

“Oh god, Harry, you didn’t up and sprout another sheared head, did you?”

“No,” Harry chuckles warmly on the air. His voice rolls over Louis as he starts to speak. “But I know someone who has.”

Louis leans on his elbows, feeling his lips touch the microphone. He doesn’t even spare a glance to Zayn, who joins him again in the studio, sitting in the spinny chair across from Louis. Normally it’s just Louis who does the radio shows, but apparently Zayn decided that today was going to be different.

“And who, exactly, is it?” Louis asks.

Harry hums, a smirk clearly evident on his lips, even though Louis can’t see him. He knows it’s there. He can hear the smug rolling off his voice. They had just last night been joking about how seriously Louis takes his journalism. Harry had teased him, faux complaining that Louis was apt to run off on their 'time together' (read: date) to tackle some hard-hitting phenomenon in the town. Louis had laughed and shook his head, but hadn’t argued. He had just gripped onto Harry’s forearm tighter and kissed him. The purple clouds had swirled overhead, had mixed like fingerpaints and made him feel altogether more spontaneous. It was perfect.

Louis knows Harry must be congratulating himself on having the scoop before Louis. Louis is so over his head with how much he loves him.

“Liam,” Harry says simply.

“Liam Payne,” Louis echoes, “the ruggedly handsome weapons supplier, who works at the local pizzeria, whom we consider a close friend of ours?”

“You know who Liam is,” Harry says, chuckling.

Louis sees Zayn roll his eyes as he sets up on the other side of the desk. Zayn slides on his headphones and switches on his microphone, but stays quiet. 

“Yes, but not all of the listeners do, Harold,” Louis teases.

“Yes,” Harry sighs, “Liam Payne, local pizza-slash-chainsaw maker and close personal friend, has now sprouted a second head.”

“What does it look like?” Louis asks, trying to picture it.

“It’s like there’s two of him. I’m not really sure which one was the original head. It’s kind of cool, actually.”

“Can it talk?” Louis asks, his chin rooted in his hand thoughtfully.

“Yep,” Harry says. “Two different brains, kind of.”

“Is one smarter than the other?” 

“They’re both loveably dim, I’d say,” Harry says. He always was the diplomatic one.

“Is it evil? Like-- is there a Good Liam and a Bad Liam?” Louis feels like the Liam they have is already a little of both, but he still feels the need to ask. 

Harry laughs. “I think they’re both Good Liams.”

“Fascinating,” Louis echoes, glancing down at the small hearts he’d doodled on his notes while Harry was speaking. He scribbles them out quickly before Zayn spots them and ridicules him for life.

“Not really,” Zayn cuts in. Louis jumps in his seat, shocked that Zayn had spoken.

“Oh, hi Zayn,” Harry chirps. 

“Harry, you are aware that you’re on air right now, yeah?” Zayn asks. 

“Of course,” Harry says, slowly, not cottoning on to Zayn’s implication.

“Alright, great,” Zayn says, pulling out a folder from the desk. “You see, I’m glad you called, Hazza, because I’m sure our listeners are very intrigued about your personal life.”

“My personal life?” Harry asks, and Louis’ eyes shoot straight to Zayn. Zayn just smirks back, looking so pleased with himself for hijacking Louis’ radio programme. 

“Yes, because see, weird shit happens every day in this town. We get up, something is going on, we go to bed, that issue gets resolved and a new one pops up in its wake. We’ve got flowers that float in the sky and domesticated animals that communicate telepathically. Boring stuff. But truly, the weirdest thing that’s happening right now in this town is that someone willingly wants to date our friend Louis here.”

“Hey,” Louis says, affronted.

Zayn waves him off with a smile.

Harry laughs.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah, okay what?” Louis echoes.

“You can ask me stuff.” Louis can’t help but notice how Harry sounds shy all of a sudden.

“I’ll start,” Louis interrupts. “So Harry, tell me, did you enjoy our date last night?”

Harry starts cackling at that, clearly taken off guard. 

“Yes, I did.”

“Excellent, excellent. So would you say you’re enjoying dating me, generally speaking?”

Harry giggles on the other line. Actual giggles.

“Yes, I’d say so.”

“Okay,” Zayn interrupts, “Let me ask the hard-hitting questions before the rest of our town starts profusely vomiting from the pure amount of soppiness that’s going on here. We do not want a repeat of the Projectile Emissions Incident of 2011.”

Louis nods solemnly. That was a dark time for everyone.

“So, Harry, what’s the most annoying thing Louis did on your date?”

“He didn’t do anything annoying,” Harry insists, his voice sounding fond over the line.

“I find that hard to believe,” Zayn says, taking notes on his paper.

“So do I,” Louis comments.

“Harry, you’re considered the most eligible bachelor in our community. Everyone, including different ages, genders, scientific classification systems, all want to marry you. Why on earth are you willingly dating _this one_?”

“Hey,” Louis says again, frowning. He feels like Zayn may have crossed a line.

“Louis’ my favourite,” Harry says simply. 

“Good answer,” Louis agrees, grinning.

“I hate you both,” Zayn says. “Okay, H, if Louis were to develop a second head-- and we’re not saying he has-- how’d you feel about that?”

“Have you?” Harry asks. Louis can’t help but notice that he sounds more intrigued than anything else. 

“No,” Louis says. “Zayn’s just causing trouble.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “I mean, it wouldn’t bother me.”

“Of course not. You’re a good person,” Zayn agrees.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis asks, shooting Zayn a nasty look.

“It means that you were just ranting about how they weren’t to be trusted. Learn some empathy.”

“I hope you get sucked into another dimension,” Louis says. He sits up in his chair suddenly. “Listeners, I’m sorry that you’ve had to listen to this nonsense. How _unprofessional_ of us,” he adds, emphasizing the words. 

Zayn winks and takes off his headphones and shuts off his mic. He makes a motion like he’s wiping dust from his hands.

‘My work here is done,’ he mouths. 

“Harry, we’ll have to let you go. It’s about time for the weather. Would you please bring Liam down to the studio? Niall wants to see Liam’s two heads for himself. Thanks for calling,” he tacks on at the end, the words rushing out of him. He’s a professional, dammit. 

He quickly disconnects the line before Harry responds. Without thinking, he switches it over to the weather, and glares at Zayn.

“Looks like Harry’s coming to the studio,” Zayn says. “He says he had a good time on your date. He says you’re his favourite. What exactly are you worried about?”

“That I’ll fuck it up, of course. Like you said, he’s perfect.”

“I don’t think I said that,” Zayn interjects.

“You should have.”

“He’s not perfect, idiot. This is the same Harry whose burp lasted ten full seconds the other day. I watched him pick pizza crust off the floor and eat it. And I’m fairly sure he’s tried to milk those other nipples of his.”

“You’re right,” Louis says. “God help me, but I like all that stuff.”

“Of course you do,” Zayn agrees, grabbing Louis by the shoulders. “You like him with his long hair. You like him with his short, uneven hair. You like him with one head, and I’m sure if it had happened, you would have liked him with two heads. You could have figured out some weird kinky shit to do.”

“That’s true,” Louis sighs. “Actually, I kind of wish he had sprouted a second head.”

“You’re insufferable,” Zayn adds, before letting go and moving to leave the studio. 

Louis grins, all thin-lipped and mischievous.

“I’m not bothered by it. I mean, it doesn’t matter whether it’s one or two; Harry’s getting head,” he says with a wink as the red light behind him blinks on.

**Author's Note:**

> [personal](http://www.decisions-and-revisions.tumblr.com) / [fic tumblr](http://www.decisionsandrevisionsfic.tumblr.com)


End file.
